


Strangers

by ianixela



Series: Ianixela's Hard Kinks Extravaganza [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anonymity, Anonymous Sex, Author Is Sleep Deprived, Drinking, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, No Strings Attached, One Night Stands, PWP, Promiscuity, Smoking, Strangers to Lovers, The Author Regrets Nothing, and i'm here for it, ben is slutty, kink bingo squares, trash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-25
Updated: 2020-05-25
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:00:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24373933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ianixela/pseuds/ianixela
Summary: Ben Solo, head architect at big design firm Organa & Associates, is looking for something to relieve his restlessness on a business trip to Osaka, so he goes on a bit of a solitary nightly adventure. His lonely wanderings end up being far more amusing than what he had anticipated when he meets a beautiful stranger in a smoky bar, and decides to take the plunge. No names, no strings.
Relationships: Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Series: Ianixela's Hard Kinks Extravaganza [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1713241
Comments: 21
Kudos: 75





	Strangers

**Author's Note:**

> About this little piece: So this is my offering for the "Anonymity" kink-bingo square on my old bingo card. I had another plan in mind for that square, I mean, it can go really hard if you write about glory holes and anonymous hookup apps, but this story ended up happening and I realized it would fit nicely so yeah, here we go! I also just wanted to write slutty, promiscuous Ben Solo, sue me.
> 
> Warnings: Explicit sexual content, explicit language, oral sex, mentions of drinking and smoking, mildly impaired decision making, no strings attached hookup/one night stand (hello its 2020 people have sexual agency yay!), the word “cunt” (again), and maybe other things that I forget...unbeta-ed and all mistakes are my own.

* * *

Ben is wandering aimlessly through the glittery, busy streets of Osaka.

He had just finished yet another business dinner with clients, and after a few drinks with his Japanese team, he found himself restless, jittery. He’d arrived in Tokyo six months ago, settling in for an eight months long contract in Japan, but was still feeling the after effects of the jet lag from a 24 hour stint back to NYC. Jetting off to Kyoto and Osaka within hours of arriving had thrown his curated routine for a loop.

So he does what he usually does in a relatively unknown city at night, restless, brain still meandering between NYC and Tokyo time; He wanders the streets aimlessly, looking for a distraction of some kind until sleep finds him. 

A solitary nightly adventure.

Sometimes Hux comes along, or Phasma, since she has a propensity to get them both in trouble, much to their amusement, and annoyance of the rest of his team. But tonight he's by himself, meandering through streets, darkened shopfronts and sparkly neon and the crowd milling about. 

Odd that he finds that kind of hectic atmosphere restful, but after spending years of his life living in the never sleeping Big Apple, the busy noisy night is like homecoming. 

He turns onto another busy street, and from the gaggle of well, albeit very lightly, dressed teenagers walking around Ben assumes he found the nightclubs and bars. One catches his attention, a dark door with a subdued looking bouncer, no line up. He ambles up to the man, a little tilt of his head in greeting before entering the dark bar, on a whim. 

It’s one of those luxurious establishments, intimate tables and a long shiny copper bar, dim, warm lights, subdued music. It's full but doesn't feel overly crowded, small groups at the tables, surrounding the bar, a game of darts in the back. Laughter, the muted hum of conversations. 

It's exactly the kind of place he likes. He finds an empty stool at the bar, orders a beer, and then indulges in one of his favourite pastimes: people watching.

He's an observant guy. 

He's learned to be more sociable and less shy over the years, became a bit of a snarky comedian, for the sake of his hard working team but also for himself. For most of his life though, he was that quiet guy in the back that observed. Interactions and behaviours, body language. He's become really good at reading people, a little too good sometimes, analyzing personalities to the point that he didn't feel making any sensible contact with anyone, for fear of being disappointed. 

Maybe that's why he's still single at 35.

Not that the occasions to sate his urges are lacking. He’s never been vain, but is well aware of how handsome he can be when he  _ wants _ to be, and that his tall, gym toned body isn’t anything to sneeze at. He’s not much of a hunter, amused by the tribulations Hux and Phasma will put themselves through to get laid. When he sets his mind to it though, he knows just what to do to satisfy his needs. There's been the occasional woman here and there on those long business trips, some pretty thing picked up in an elegant bar, a bit of fun in non-descript hotel rooms, only to get amused looks from Hux across the lobby when he accompanies the girl to a cab.

He  _ was  _ raised by a woman, after all.

_ “Did you even get sleep Ben? You look a little worse for wear?”  _ Hux would snark, with a little twist of his mouth that Ben knew meant that he was half-amused, half-jealous. 

But lately he's been refusing the offers, too restless, sick of the routine, bored. He needs a dose of uncertainty, of unexpected, and he has an inkling this overseas assignment might provide him a bit of both. So Ben has a sip of his cold beer and watches. 

The cute couple in the darkened alcove, murmuring to each other too low for him to hear, but from their matching blushes it's probably not a conversation fit for the public. The group of friends laughing raucously at the nearby table, empty glasses and bottles all over the wooden surface. There's some interesting interactions there, one of the girls looking at a boy with longing from across the table while he chats with the clearly uninterested girl beside him, two boys exchanging less than innocent looks, and touches, underneath the table, this one boy staring into the distance completely oblivious to the conversation. It makes for a fascinating dynamic. Interesting enough for him not to notice when someone slides into the stool beside his own, until he hears a crisp, assertive female voice order whiskey. 

He’s not fluent in Japanese, not by a long shot, but he knows enough to recognize the words.

_ Laphroaig. Good taste. _

It's a pretty voice, a little on the low scale, soft yet strong, feminine without being overly girly. He turns his head just a little, curious, eyes downcast, and the first thing he sees is feet. Delicate, finely formed feet in black, high-heeled strappy sandals, dark grey painted toenails. Delicate ankles, the full curve of a toned calf, sun-kissed skin, so much warmer and golden than his own milk white complexion. Slender, endless legs crossed at the knee, a sliver of tanned inner thigh revealed by the parted back slit of the dress. 

His eyes keep going up the elegant yet athletic silhouette, clad in a simple, knee length, sleeveless black sheath: a graceful curve of hip, narrow waist, long, elegant arms covered with a spattering of rust coloured freckles. Her dress has a high neckline, demure almost, but he can tell that her chest isn't overly generous, just enough to balance her lower body. He doesn't care all that much really, those long legs pretty much made him breathless already. He feels like a bit of a pervert at his appraisal of her faceless body, even if it's subtle, and quickly lifts his eyes to get a glimpse of her face, getting a bit of a surprise. 

The woman is a foreigner, like him. 

Her hair is a rich chestnut, tied back in a ponytail falling like a silky smooth river down her back, her face full of elegant angles, a bit feline. Her profile is sharp, strong cheekbones and a graceful jawline, jutting lips and a small nose, long fluttery lashes, her skin gold and freckled and gorgeous. 

She turns towards him a little when the bartender serves her drink, mouth curved up, her lower lip poutier than the top one, and he notices that the freckles run across her slender nose and cheeks, up to her forehead and down her upper lip in a perfect, even dusting that makes her look deliciously fresh faced. He's never seen that kind of freckled, golden skin up close like this, but he's fascinated by the perfect "imperfection" of it. 

Japanese culture puts such a strong value on pale, unmarred skin, urging everyone to apply layers of sunscreen and foundation until everyone is sporting this homogeneous mask of eternal youth. He understands the ideal, but it baffles him sometimes that most of the women he’s met so far are hiding underneath so many layers of makeup and social conditioning that if he was to date one, it would probably take months for him to see her bare skin, free of artifice. 

To see that beautiful, lived-in skin is at once intriguing and refreshing. Maybe a little exciting even. 

Imperfection is relative, for him anyway. Despite his own social conditioning that dictates that he should favour eternal youth and demure, obedient submissive young women. He never really enjoyed being told what to do, to be quite honest.

She pulls out her wallet from her purse to pay for her drink, her hands are long-fingered and graceful, nails painted the same slate grey as her toes, and on a whim he gestures to the bartender and pulls out a few bills out of his own wallet to pay for her. 

She turns towards him, a surprised smile twisting her full lips, and he's happy to get a real glimpse of her face. She's a little younger than he is probably, very fine lines at the corners of her eyes from sunlight and smiling. She  _ does _ have an easy smile, white teeth peeking between her lips. 

Her eyes are like an autumn forest on a sunny day, hazel with inclusions of amber gold around the iris, her lashes thick and long, well groomed brows. He definitely has a thing for brunettes, but she is flat out gorgeous, enough for him to feel a little flustered when she thanks him in her low voice with an amused quirk of her left brow.

Queen’s english, sharp as a knife. The accent does things to his insides that he’d rather not dwell on too much.

There is a silence as she takes the first sip of amber liquid that matches her eyes so well, and then she turns her entire body towards his, stool swivelling, rearranging her legs not to bump into him.

"That was very kind of you." she says, thanking him again with a little polite bow.

He shrugs, turns his own stool a fraction.

"A lovely woman like you shouldn't pay for her own drinks." he replies, before he can catch himself.

When the hell did he get so flirtatious? She smirks at his words, flattered but not too obviously so, takes another sip.

"And what brings a handsome gentleman like yourself in such a little dive like this one? It's the first time I see you around here."

He has a sip of his own beer, if only to make his mouth seem a little less like the sahara desert. There's a lush timbre to her voice that sends his stomach roiling into delicious knots, a smouldering fire seeping into his lower belly.

"I live in Tokyo, I'm here for two days."

She nods, extricating a pack of cigarettes from her purse. American spirits that are so hard to find in Japan, strong enough to knock him out after more than two, yet still accepts one as she offers the open packet to him. She smirks when he pulls out his lighter and offers her the flame, admires how the flickering light warms up her entire face, throws hints of gold in her lambent eyes. She pulls elegantly, blows out a stream of grey smoke as he lights his own cigarette, fighting a cough with a snort.

"These are so strong…"

She smirks again, a peek of white teeth.

"Don't like the American stuff?"

He shakes his head, with a smirk of his own.

"I like them, but I got used to the menthols everyone smokes here."

She laughs then, a low throaty chuckle that fully bares her teeth, and they are straight and pretty darn perfect.

"Surprising...A tall manly American like you, perfume-y menthols?" she teases.

There is no bite to her words, just good natured ribbing.

"Hey!" he protests, smiling, "They're actually pretty good, but I'm quite convinced they make me smoke much more than I should…"

"Everyone smokes too much here, me included." she drags at the cigarette again, effortlessly glamorous, "What brings you to Osaka?"

He watches her exhale smoke, half-entranced. She manages to make every gesture elegant and sensual, yet so natural. Seduction is in her blood, and it's quickly seeping into his.

"I’m an architect, I came for a business opportunity."

"Oh, an artist then…that's interesting. Are you working for a big firm?"

He smirks, has a sip of beer.

"We’re doing pretty good for ourselves, you know that huge luxury complex getting built in Ginza? That’s my handiwork."

Her groomed eyebrows rise a fraction, clearly impressed.

"Doing pretty good for yourself I see. I don’t know much about architecture I’m afraid, but I’ve definitely heard of the project."

It's odd to meet someone who hasn't got a single clue of what he does for a living. Most of the women he meets are at conventions or at the very least work adjacent. It's oddly refreshing not to feel like he has a reputation to uphold, social pressure to act a certain way. Being himself for a change.

"It’s a pretty big deal, but I have been working in the field for ten years. Not my first project. First time in Japan though."

"Ah…and how long have you been here for? Are you enjoying your stay."

He nods, inhales smoke, it burns down his throat as he ponders. 

"I’ve been here six months now, I rather like it. The first few weeks were quite the culture shock. I’m a born and raised New Yorker, we’re not known for extreme politeness and formalities…”

She chuckles at his words, the curl of her lush lips tantalizing.

“What about you?” He asks, “I don't want to assume things, but I don't think you're Japanese…"

She smirks.

"That's very observant of you," she teases, stubbing her cigarette in the ashtray, "I've been living in Osaka for twenty years, but I was born to British parents in Kenya."

"Ah, that explains your Japanese skills. Twenty years is plenty of time to learn. Kenya huh? I was in South Africa once, at the beginning of my career."

"How did you like it?"

He snorts, remembering the packed schedule and the exhausting flights.

"I don't really know, I was too busy to enjoy it. I did spend a couple of days on a rather beautiful beach, I'd love to go back one day. What brought you to Japan?"

She straightens up, adjusting her skirt elegantly, and he gestures for two more whiskeys.

"My parents worked for the British government, at international affairs. My mother was given a long term assignment here, at the British embassy, and we relocated to Tokyo from Nairobi. I went to London for my university studies but did not feel any attachment to the motherland. I didn't know what I wanted to do, so I travelled all over Asia and when I came back to Japan, it’s the only place that truly felt like home to me. I came back here to teach english literature at Osaka University's School of Foreign Studies on a year-long contract, and four years ago I quit and became a writer."

"Wow. That's an interesting path…are you working on a book right now?"

She laughs, a little dejectedly.

"I'm trying to. It's a historical novel that takes place in late feudal Japan, just before the Meiji restoration, but I'm having the worst writer's block right now. I'm just back from a meeting with my editor and my publisher actually, to get an extension on my deadline because my manuscript is due in three months and I'm nowhere near done. My first two books wrote themselves, but this one is really giving me a hard time…I came here to clear my head."

The bartender takes away her glass and his empty bottle, replaces them with two neat little glasses of whiskey. Ben holds it up towards her.

"Looks like we both are in a rut then. I also came here to clear my head, let's cheer to that…"

She smiles when their glasses touch, her eyes flaring, full of heady promise, and Ben feels a little breathless. Eager.

“I have a bit of an idea.” she offers, after taking her sip of the smoky, herbal single malt.

“What kind of idea?”

Her smile gets secretive, intimate.

“How about we forgo our real names tonight? I want to feel like one of my characters, a bit anonymous…”

There’s something that makes his stomach coil at her sultry tone. He likes this idea, no names, no expectations. Just a bit of harmless fun, flirting with a perfect stranger in the night.

"I like this idea, but we should at least have nicknames for each other." he compromises.

“Alright, you can call me Rey.”

He takes her offered hand in his, it's soft and warm but her grip is strong, confident.

"You can call me Kylo."

* * *

He’d texted Hux earlier, letting him know that he probably would be back very late if at all, not to wait up on him to debrief from their business dinner.

Rey is fascinating, her mind as stunning as her looks.

She's ambidextrous. Likes to play volleyball and horseback riding, erupting in laughter when he says he's never even seen a horse from less than twenty feet. She’s a single child. Her father died of cancer when she was 15. She takes her whiskey neat, smokes a lot when she writes but not so much otherwise. She's a bit of a tomboy despite the dress and heels she wore to her meeting. She's five feet ten when in heels, much to his delighted awe.

She's a fresh faced 25 years old, scoffing when she finds out that he's turning 36 in the fall.

"Look at me," she says with an eye-roll, "trying to pick up old men."

"Are you really trying to pick me up?"

She smiles, a predatory grin that sends his blood boiling.

"Is it working?"

He reaches down, slow, deliberate, slides his fingers underneath the hem of her dress, up her shin to cup her knee with his palm. Her skin is soft and hot under his hand, her eyes glittering at his boldness. He holds her gaze for a few seconds, fingers drawing little lines on her smooth skin. She bites her lower lip, back straightening as his hand slides higher up on her thigh, fully underneath her dress. The delicate balance between attraction and desire has been overturned with a simple touch.

"Do you want it to work?"

"Yes." she replies, bluntly.

He feels his mouth quirking up.

"Then it's working."

* * *

It's two in the morning and they are walking through deserted streets, humid summer heat making their skin stick.

He's following her really, since he has no clue where the fuck they are going. They're both a little tipsy.

She's tall in her heels. Five ten sounded tall considering he's six two himself, but he only realized how much when they both stood up to leave and he noticed that he barely had to lean if he wanted to kiss her. If anything it turned him on even more. 

He's always had a thing for long legs, and tall girls have a way of making his brain fall straight in the gutter, maybe because it's so rare here, to find a girl who can look you in the eye without tilting her head all the way back. 

He also noticed that her dress is tight, fits well on her toned body, hugging curves and muscle perfectly. She's slender and athletic, a bit of softness in all the right places, and he can't wait to see her out of that little black dress and feel those endless thighs wrapped around his waist. 

It's easy to slide his arm around her lower back, hips, and she giggles somewhat girlishly when he pulls her close, sides touching as they walk. Her hand slides up his back, cups the back of his neck, thumb pressing little circles in the roots of his hair.

"I haven't done this in a while."

"Done what?"

She laughs.

" _ This _ . Picking up a stranger in a bar to then bring him back to my place. It's been months."

He gives her hip a gentle squeeze. They are strangers in the night, brought together by a mixture of boredom and sleeplessness, but somehow this whole thing still feels meaningful. Like it was supposed to happen. And it's so fucking exciting, that uncertainty, the fact that they hardly even know each other at all a goad to his desire.

"It's been a while for me too. "

"Surprising. A good looking man like you, especially here?"

"Well, yeah I suppose. I get plenty of offers, but I’m the painfully selective type." he jokes, shaking his head in a self-deprecating manner.

"Should I be flattered then?"

"I don't know if you should be flattered, I'm not that special. But I definitely don't make a habit of meeting gorgeous women in dimly lit bars and proceed to do everything I can to get them to have sex with me so I guess you're pretty special…"

She scoffs, tightens her grip on his nape.

"It's not like a sexy guy like you has that much work to do to seduce anyone."

"You'd be surprised…I was an awkward teenager once. Far from this charming man you see now."

They come to a halt in front of a high-rise building.

"We're here. You're sure you wanna come up?" she asks, hesitant for a few seconds, because it could have been bluffing this entire time, just a game between them.

But it wasn't. He wants her. He wants her very much.

"Yes."

She grins, takes his hand in hers and pulls him up the short flight of stairs. The lobby is quiet, the elevator bell awfully loud in the heavy silence. He shuffles in after her, watches her press the button for the 17th floor, and then backs her up against the panelled wall. 

He frames her narrow shoulders with his hands on the wood panel, moves in close, close enough for him to catch the heady, sultry heart notes of her perfume, wrapping himself in a cloud of it when he leans down to trace the curve of her neck with his lips. 

She tilts her head to the side, sighing, hands bunching in the crisp Italian weave of his black trousers where they lay over his hips. Her skin is sweat-salty underneath his tongue, the hammering of her quickened pulse echoing against his lips. His teeth close softly on that smooth skin underneath the side of her jaw, and she arches against him with a muffled moan, pushing off the wall right into his arms. 

They reach the 17th floor too fast yet too slow, the doors sliding open with a hiss. She guides him to door 176, finds her keys in her small purse and pries the door open, flicking the light switch as she enters. He follows her into the  _ genkan _ , shuts the door behind himself, and then her breath is on the side of his face and he turns, taking half a step back, and their lips touch.

It's tentative for half a second, but then he's pushing, pushing her against the nearest wall as his mouth devours hers, swallowing her whimpers. Her lips part easily for his curious tongue, mouth tasting like smoke and the earthiness of whiskey, her own tongue sliding against his. His hands slide up her narrow waist, cup her ribcage, thumbs tracing the lower curve of her breasts and she moans against his mouth, arching into him when his lips slide down her chin to her throat, heat pools and pools in his lower belly, coiling tight. He bites down on her throat, hard enough to bruise and she gasps, fingers scrabbling for purchase on the back of his shirt, knees trembling.

He clumsily slides off his shoes, his suit jacket already on the floor, his hands sliding down her hips, thighs, lifting the hem of her dress as he slowly drops to his knees in front of her. 

Removing his black silk tie and sending it flying to the side as he mouths the downward slope of her lower belly though her dress. Both hands lifting the stiff fabric until his fingers touch a soft lacy edge. 

He hooks his thumbs in the waistband of her panties, slowly dragging the scrap of lace down her thighs, her fingers clenching on his shoulders. She steps out of them with a smirk, her gaze just as eager as his own when he smooths up the dress again, up her thighs and hips until she's revealed to him in her naked glory.

He can't help but let out a little gasp when he catches sight of the pale pink flesh at the junction of her thighs, surprised yet utterly pleased to see that she's completely bare, running his fingers down the triangle of smooth skin.

"That’s a really western thing, waxing everything off."

"You don't like it? I know some Japanese men get weirded out by it."

He smirks, coaxing her right knee over his shoulder, steadying her with hands on her hips, heat flaring in his stomach all the way down to his cock when the gesture parts her, giving him a real look at the delicate folds of her cunt, the tiny button of her clit. Such a pretty flower. He wants to suck on that delicate bud until she begs him for release in every language she knows.

"Hmm…I have no hard and fast rules when it comes to body hair of any kind. But I have to say that your cunt is especially beautiful…" he purrs, before pressing his mouth to her flesh in a heated kiss that makes her throw back her head and sigh in delight.

She gasps as he traces her sensitive folds with his tongue, slow and lavishing, lapping at her musky essence. She tastes sweet, earthy and sweat-salty and her skin is so hot against his mouth, trembling with pleasure as she moans and pants in heaving breaths. 

Her hips arch forward, the thigh draped on his shoulder urging him closer, pointy heel digging in his back when his tongue dips inside her warmth, tasting, licking. Her hands clench on the wall, desperately trying to stay upright, to keep her knees from buckling. His hands dig in, fingers tight on her hips, steadying her as she arches off the wall when he devours her. Ben revels in her taste, scent, her fingers finding his hair and tugging. 

Tugging soft and then hard when he hums with pleasure against her. She groans his fictional name helplessly when he encloses the small bud in the heat of his mouth, sucking deep, teasing flicks of his tongue that make her keen and beg and fall apart under his attentions, muscles in her stomach clenching and spasming.

“Kylo _...fuck.” _

Her moans are music to his ears, the hand tightening in his hair sweet torture. It's been a long time since he's done this, worshipping a woman’s body so intimately and he'd forgotten how good it felt to have that kind of control, to feel skin pulsing and trembling underneath his tongue, clenching around it.

He can feel the heavy weight of his own arousal pushing at his clothing, tense and hot and aching for a touch, but right now it's all about her, her pleasure, so he bides his time, enjoying every second of this heady pursuit. He wants to hear her scream for him.

He circles her sensitive clit with his tongue, moans against her when he feels her orgasm right against his mouth, rushing heat flushing her skin pink, her thighs trembling with the strain. He lavishes her until she's breathless, sucking until he doesn't know when her flesh ends and his mouth begins, all wet heat and delicious tremors. She's so beautiful in her ecstasy, he wants to make her come undone all night long.

"Oh… _ Kylo _ …" she pants, voice husky and breathless, chest heaving as he lowers her thigh, and she lets herself slide down the wall, fall into his lap, "Fuck…"

Their mouths meet again, she licks at his lips while his hands are roaming her back, sliding down the length of her legs to find the clasps of her sandals. He manages to get her out of the delicate shoes, coaxes her thighs around his waist as he stands, her wet heat pressing against his belly. 

He can feel it seeping through the fabric of his white shirt, blazing hot and slick. She's surprisingly light for such a tall woman, and she clings to him, her arms around his neck, still trembling with aftershocks of her orgasm.

"We need a bed and we need it  _ now _ ." he whispers in her ear, holding her tight against him, her mouth on his neck.

"Last door to the right."

He walks through a small kitchen, and then down a hall, not really paying attention to the rooms he's passing by because he has a goal in mind. A goal that involves them both naked and entangled on a bed in a mutual chase for ecstasy. He reaches the last door to the right, open already. The bedroom is large, with cream walls and pale wood furniture, thick carpeting that swallows his toes in softness. There is a large, huge really, western-style bed with a champagne comforter and pillows. 

He lets her slide from his grasp as their mouths tangle, her hands prying, sliding underneath the hem of his shirt, long, agile fingers undoing the small buttons up his smooth stomach, pushing it off his body. They part long enough for her to manoeuvre the tank he wears underneath off his chest and over his head, tossing it to the floor carelessly as they seek each other's lips again. 

His hands slide up her spine to find the tab of the zipper closure of her dress. He turns her around when he finds it, pulling down, the fabric parting with a muted sigh as it reveals a creamy gold back, the sinuous line of her spine, the two dimples at the base of it like punctuation marks. 

He slides his hand in the opening, tracing the uninterrupted line with a low chuckle.

"No bra? That's not very lady-like." he teases, pushing the fabric down her shoulders, leaning down to kiss the newly exposed, freckled skin.

She snorts, reaching back with one hand to slip the elastic off her hair, freeing it from the tight ponytail. It falls down her back in a chocolate cascade, silky smooth, and he pauses to run his fingers through it, gathering it over her shoulder as he keeps pulling at the dress.

"I told you I was a tomboy. I don't have enough breasts to bother with itchy, uncomfortable support garments in this muggy weather, besides, its hardly lady-like to invite a charming older man back home for sex in the middle of the night." she quips back, teasingly, leaning back against him as he drags the fabric down her arms, freeing them.

"Did I say it was a bad thing?" he purrs against her neck, hands sliding up her toned arms, reaching across her chest to cup her breasts.

They are small, but firm, they fit in his palms perfectly, soft nipples tracing a hot flush against his skin. And then he notices the full length mirror to his left, looks at their fit, elegant bodies fitting together perfectly, his pale hands on her golden skin. 

They are opposites, he's pale and dark where she's gold and brass, but it's a good match nonetheless, an interesting contrast, and he feels oddly satisfied that their joining will look as beautiful as it will be pleasurable. He’s always been one to appreciate aesthetics.

She pushes the dress the rest of the way down her hips while his hands are busy caressing her, teasing her dusky-pink nipples to hard buds, and it slithers down her legs to pool at their feet. She turns in his grasp, her glorious hair falling across her eyes, and it strangely makes her look a bit older, sexier, mysterious, a little wild. 

She kisses him, slow and hard, teeth pulling at his lower lip as she backs up towards the bed, dragging him along, his hands on the swell of her bare hips. 

She sits on the edge of the bed, hands raking down his chest, down the taut hills and valleys of his buff stomach, fingers tugging at the buckle of his belt.

"You're still a little too dressed to my taste…" she teases, prying the buckle open, tugging out the leather, and then the button and zipper of his trousers, pushing down until he's naked too, letting his cock leap free of the constraining fabric of his briefs.

Her pupils widen at the sight, her mouth quirking up at the corners, clearly pleased. He's not especially vain, but he knows from experience that he's rather well endowed, and the fact that she's not afraid of his girth is quite exciting, even more so when she leans forward and without warning wraps her mouth around him, sucking at the glistening wetness leaking from the slit. 

He groans with pleasure, burying his fingers in her luscious hair as she sucks him deeper in her hot mouth, deeper, until most of him is down her throat and he's breathless. She pulls and pushes, back and forth a few times before pulling off him with a throaty chuckle.

"I have to say, and I don't say that kind of stuff often, you have a really nice cock…" she purrs, pushing herself up on the bed, inching back until she lay back against the mound of pillows stacked against the headboard, reaching in the side table's drawer, pulling out a foil packet.

He smirks, giving his erection a few saliva-slick strokes if only for the sake of showing off before following her on the bed on his knees, crawling between her parted thighs.

"You just wait until I get all of it inside you…" he replies, snatching the condom from her fingers and making quick work of getting it on his aching cock.

"I hope those aren't empty threats…" she starts, giggling when he grabs the underside of her knees and pulls her down the pillows, closer.

"I don't make promises I can't keep." he replies with a grin, reaching down between their bodies to guide himself between her thighs, finding her moist and ready for him.

She yields to the smooth push of his hips, arching her back just so, opening herself to him and he slides into tight heat, sinks into her deep in a long, aching surge that has them both gasping. 

So deep. Her body swallows him completely and he has to pause and take a deep breath not to just let go and drive it into her.

But he waits, until both their breaths have slowed, hers hot and steady against his neck, coaxing her long thighs around his waist before letting his hips push forward in a slick thrust that makes her gasp and surge up against him. 

She's fire underneath him, living flame in his arms as his hips flex and shift between her thighs, her arms tight around his waist, blunt nails digging in the small of his back as she guides their rhythm. Slick and slow and steady, mouths meeting for breathless kisses that leave him aching for more, more tongue, more teeth, more of her hot breath mingling with his as he loses himself inside her. 

Hot. Deep. Deep enough to feel her wild heart-beat from her insides all around him, a pulsing, hypnotizing throbbing against his oversensitive flesh. Her eyes flutter shut as he straightens up, tilting her back as he lifts her hips clean off the bed, holding her up and open for his quickening thrusts, her body surging and moving against his. 

He hooks her knees over his forearms and leans down over her, drives into her hard, and fast, and she's moaning and panting, hands scrabbling at the pale sheets underneath her. 

She's gorgeous like that, helpless underneath him, the golden glory of her skin, her hair spilled on the mattress like a dark halo, mouth open as she sucks in breath after breath. 

Her lips are kiss-swollen, full and lush, her eyes like golden fire through the lattice of her fluttery lashes, and she's begging him for more with her entire body pushing back against his.

He can feel the pleasure spiralling up and up with each thrust, each roll of hips, and too soon he feels her clamping down on him with a desperate groan, her orgasm gathering, slick heat pooling around him.

"Not yet…not yet…"

"Oh…Kylo  _ please _ …"

"Hold it, just a little more…" he gasps, freeing her legs, letting the length of his body cover hers, bracing his left hand on her chest, the other tangling in her glorious hair,  "Wait for me…I'm so close…"

Her arms snake around his shoulders and neck as his hands roam down to her heaving flanks, down to grasp her hips, splaying on the small of her back to push her up against him, the friction between their bodies close to unbearable. 

He buries his face in her neck, biting down that soft skin underneath her jaw as she trembles and surges against him, and he lets go of all control, heat bursting in his lower belly as she comes underneath him.

His orgasm is like a fiery tide, shattering his reality in a million shards of complete pleasure as he pulses deep inside her, her back arching, hips raised to welcome his last erratic thrusts as her own release consumes her completely. His hips stutter with finality before they both collapse against each other in the sheets, breathless, looking at each other with glazed, sated eyes. 

His lips find hers as he rolls them both to their sides, lower bodies still joined and pulsing, throbbing with the aftermath of their orgasm, limbs closely entangled.

Bodies like silver and gold in the dim light.

* * *

She fits perfectly against him.

It's odd that they've only known each other for a few hours yet find themselves such a good match. They've shared drinks and banter, kisses, breaths, sex, orgasms, sleep, and just now sex again. 

Lazy morning sex, slow kisses and slower caresses, her hips rising and falling as she rode him to orgasm, her glorious hair and skin like burnished gold in the early light. She looked so good above him, her head tilting back when his fingers found hard nipples, the tight bud between her thighs, her deep sigh of contentment as they both came. 

Glorious.

Their mingled sweat is cooling on warm skin, yet they still are strangers to each other. 

That's the beauty of it really. Uncomplicated pleasure, the excitement of the unknown, the uncertainty. He feels more at ease than he has for a long time, sighing contentedly when her mouth lands on the soft skin underneath his ear.

She's sprawled half on the bed, half on top of him, her thigh across his hips, her arm draped over his chest, breasts pressed against his side. Her head of luscious chestnut hair fits perfectly in the crook of his shoulder, and he could stay like this forever, with her warm mouth on his neck, tracing his jaw. 

But duty calls, literally. 

He's heard his phone trill a few times already, down there somewhere in his trouser pocket but the very last thing he wants to do right now is get up.

"I think someone is texting me…" he groans, squeezing his eyes shut to try to ignore it.

"You should check your phone then. Who knows, it might be important?"

"Probably just my dearest coworkers being worried." he replies with a sigh, slowly untangling their limbs anyway, unfolding from the bed with a jaw unhinging yawn.

He stretches his arms above his head, heedless of his nakedness, and starts looking for his trousers, finding them bunched up at the foot of the bed, extricating his phone from the pocket. 

True enough, there's a slew of text messages in Hux’s trademark prissy, passive-aggressive tone, ranging from " _ where the fuck are you? _ " to " _ I will have your balls if you're not there for airport shuttle at 2pm!! _ "

Classic Hux. 

He texts back a quick response to reassure him, drops the phone back on the pile of his clothes and gives his back another stretch before turning to the bed again. 

"Everything alright?" she asks, sprawled on her stomach on the bed, the enticing curves of her rear and thighs on display.

"Absolutely, I even have a few more hours to kill…" he replies, crawling back on the bed, leaning down to kiss the back of her thighs, delighting in the sharp hiss she let out in response, her legs spreading further, "Do you mind if I spend them with you?"

She chortles then, turns around on her back, drags him up until he's settled between her thighs, her hair wild, eyes glowing.

"If I can't walk after all this you better carry me to the shower."

He chuckles, presses his erect cock against her belly with a little roll of his hips, making them both groan.

"If you  _ can _ walk after this, then I clearly haven't done my job right…"

* * *

At the New York offices of Organa and Associates, they get copious amounts of mail pretty much every day. Envelopes, rolls of cardboards containing blueprints and plans, contractor invoices.

Ben is looking forward to the distraction that comes with sorting through his mail. His morning had been spent trying to virtually combine blueprints for a building proposal that simply did not want to cooperate.

Hux enters Ben’s office just as their assistant drops the usual box of envelopes and cardboard tubes on his side desk, carrying a piping hot cappuccino in a little porcelain cup.

“Your coffee, my liege.” Hux mocks, putting down the cup on Ben’s desk with an exaggerated bow.

Ben snorts, thankfully grabbing the warm cup.

“Thanks Hux, I really need all the caffeine I can handle to finish this damn proposal…”

Hux shrugs, sifting through Ben’s mail with his usual curiosity.

“It’s a testament to my coffee making skills that you insist I make it. Can’t blame you though, Phasma’s coffee is straight up jet fuel…” his hands find a rectangular box in the pile, and he inspects it curiously.

"Hm, a package from Japan?" Hux remarks, pulling out a medium sized shipping box from the bottom of the bigger box, "I wonder what it is?"

Ben reaches for the box Hux is handing him, puzzled. It's a reasonably sized box, the kind they shipped books in, with a few stamps and postage markings on it, a return address in Tokyo neatly printed, nothing special.

"Let me guess...used panties from a schoolgirl? An embarrassing Japanese sex toy?" Hux teases, half-joking, half-hoping for something sordid to come out of the box.

Ben makes a face, starts prying at the tape on one side, and then stops, thinking that maybe he should open this one in private.

"You'd like that wouldn't you? I’m not the type to have that kind of stuff shipped to an office where my own mother works..."

Hux shrugs, making his way back to the door.

“Wouldn’t put it past you, I know your kinky ways…”

Ben laughs, toying with the corners of the box.

“Right. Remind me to never go to happy hour with you and Phas again, I know far too much about  _ your _ weird sex life now. Hurts my brain.”

Hux laughs his way out of the door.

“No can do man, you’re stuck with us.”

Later, he sits on the couch in his Soho apartment and takes the box out of his bag. He manages to unwrap one side, finally prying the box open, tipping the contents in his lap. 

It's a book. A medium sized, hardcover book with a black and grey photograph of what seems to be a late-era samurai on it.  The design is sober, the title in delicate font and the name of the author in fine print at the bottom.

_Briana Jackson_.

The name doesn’t ring a bell. He flips the cover open, getting to the dedications page. 

_ To Kylo, thank you for getting me out of my writer's block so I could finish this one on time, I couldn't have done it without you. Much love. _

His heart skips a beat. There’s a very small handful of people who would know that nickname, and only one he knows of in Japan.

There’s a handwritten note on a mini heart shaped post-it on the title page, neat little lines in crisp black ink.

_ Turn to page 217. _

He turns to page 217 and then there's another post-it at the top.

_ Read the next five pages. _

The next five pages is a love scene, between a young noblewoman and her samurai lover, and he finds himself amused and aroused and utterly flattered. Not only because the lover she describes, tall and fair, raven hair and eyes of amber, is a barely veiled portrait of him, but also to see that she has described that encounter they had four months ago in the genkan of her apartment. 

Where he made her come right there against the wall, mouth and tongue on her cunt, the two of them nearly fully dressed. The poetry of her words to describe him and his skill, and the description of her character's orgasm is particularly flattering. He gets to the fifth page and a folded piece of yellow stationery falls out.

_ I really did mean it when I said I couldn't have done it without you. I still remember that night we shared in great detail, the memories still delight me. It took me a little work (wine and relentless google searches) to find your name and work address, I hope you won’t begrudge my prying. When you have some time, you'll have to come back to Osaka so I can thank you properly, we could have a repeat of that fine evening spent together, no? Or maybe I could see you on your home turf, my publisher is sending me to NYC next month for the North American release of my book. Let me know...Kisses, Rey _

Followed by a neatly printed phone number. 

Ben’s heart soars in his chest, coiling heat in his belly at the thought of seeing her again. He picks up his phone and types in the number, the dial tone loud in his quiet apartment.

Ben smirks when the call connects and an amused voice replies at the other end, halfway across the world.

“ _ Good evening, stranger. _ ”

**Author's Note:**

> Genkan: genkan are traditional Japanese entryway areas for a house, apartment, or building—something of a combination of a porch and a doormat. In my experience the floor is usually recessed from the rest of the house and there’s a little step you can sit on to put/remove your shoes. 
> 
> A note on smoking: I was shocked by the amount of smokers in japan tbh, most salarymen (white collar workers) smoke and a lot of bars will allow indoors smoking. Everyone smokes menthols or those super slim, tiny cigarettes. It was really interesting to see, as someone who quit smoking ages ago and living in a country where smoking indoors is prohibited. 
> 
> So hum, slutty Ben-muse is slutty and that’s that I guess. Hope this little mild kink piece is hitting the spot, I just wanted to write something fun haha. Maybe one day I’ll do a hard kink piece with that bingo square idk. Thanks for reading, comments and kudos make my day <3 xoxo


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